


Battlegrounds

by Littleshebear



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Hawthorne's social anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 01:52:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17695358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littleshebear/pseuds/Littleshebear
Summary: This was written as a prompt fill: "People are Jerks but Not You."Hawthorne attends a social function in the City after the Red War and feels out of place but Zavala has her back.





	Battlegrounds

_This was a mistake_ , thought Hawthorne as she surveyed the scene before her. She had found herself in a room packed with dignitaries, consensus officials, businessmen. All manner of City movers and shakers. The gathering had been touted as a celebration of the liberation of the City but Hawthorne could see it for what it truly was. This was a battlefield. There wasn’t much celebrating that she could see, only social maneuvering, clambering and scrambling to fill voids left by people who hadn’t been lucky enough to see the end of the Red War. This ‘Party’ was battle as much as the assault on the City had been but Hawthorne had to admit, she had no idea what the rules of engagement were. She had never felt more out of place in her life.

She picked her way through the throng, looking out for a familiar face. She found herself wondering what on earth was supposed to do with one’s hands at these things. Leave them by your sides? Seemed too stiff. Keep them clasped behind your back? Or in front? Awkward and artificial. She tugged at the collar  of her dress, the unfamiliar fabric feeling itchy and uncomfortable. When she’d received the invite, she figured her usual, outdoorsy garb probably wouldn’t be appropriate. She’d bought something a little more formal, opting for a red Anarkali suit with unobtrusive silver embroidery around the cuffs, collar and hem, topped off with a simple silk headscarf. She’d thought it a ridiculous extravagance, expensive and frivolous but now she was here, she felt so underdressed. She watched a woman walk past wearing an outfit that probably cost the same as six month’s worth of livestock feed for the Farm.

She felt her skin prickle, a sure sign that someone was watching her. She turned to see a young looking couple, clutching champagne flutes in front of themselves like shields. The looked her up and down sceptically.

“Hi,” Hawthorne said, meeting their disdainful gazes defiantly. “Help you?”

“Do you have an invitation?” Asked the man.

“Yes,” Hawthorne answered abruptly. “Do you?”

“Executor Hideo invited us, personally,” the woman responded, icily. “I don’t ever recall seeing you at Consensus functions before.”

“Huh.” Hawthorne folded her arms. “That’s interesting. I don’t recall seeing you helping refugees. Or manning triage stations. Or pitching in at the Farm. Or fighting at the final assault on the City before the Traveler woke.” She glanced towards the glasses in their hands and nodded, “Enjoy your overpriced moonshine.”

Hawthorne  stalked away from them, scowling. She couldn’t quite make out what they were saying about her when she left but she was sure she heard the words, “Mutton dressed as lamb.” She headed for an exit, any exit, she needed some air, to get away from this crowd. She found a window in a corridor outside and threw open the shutters. She leaned her forehead on the window-frame and looked down at the City. Lights twinkled in the districts where power had been restored. It was beautiful but the damage the was obvious. Craters here, rubble and collapsed buildings there. She clenched her fists as she thought of those idiots in the party pretending that everything was fine, with their champagne and their canapes and their fancy clothes and personal invitations from Executor what’s-his-face. While they were rubbing shoulders and brokering alliances to make themselves even richer, there were people down there living in tents or worse. This was a mistake, she was sure of it now. She didn’t belong here.

Hawthorne’s head snapped up when she heard an approaching voice.

“You know I’ve always trusted your judgement…”

She ducked behind a pillar, pressing her back to the cool stone hoping whoever this is doesn’t see her. She really isn’t in the mood for any more socialising.

“…I’m just not sure this Hawthorne woman is a suitable choice as a liason.”

_Well screw you too, buddy. Whoever you are_ , Hawthorne thought, suppressing the urge to snort in disgust.

“Your concerns are noted, Executor but I disagree.” It was Zavala who replied in his unmistakable baritone.

“Commander, she’s a criminal-”

“Was.”

“The charges against her-”

“Have been expunged,” Zavala interrupted again, his voice calm but forceful. Hawthorne turned toward the sound of their voices, intently interested in how the conversation went. She stayed behind the pillar, resisting the urge to peek out and gauge Zavala’s mood from his expression.

“I’m just not convinced that she has the best interests of the City at heart. Even when she was here, she was trying to leave,” Hideo continued.

“So are Dead Orbit, but they have a seat on the council.” Hawthorne smiled in satisfaction at Zavala’s come-back. “Executor, Suraya Hawthorne took charge when the people were leaderless. It shames me to think of her doing that alone while I chased a fool’s errand on Titan. She gave refugees a safe haven, the Farm is still treating wounded and housing the displaced there as we speak. She was instrumental in the liberation of the City, we couldn’t have done it without her. She had no stake in the City, she didn’t need to do that.”

Executor Hideo took his time in responding to Zavala’s spirited defence. In the ensuing silence, Hawthorne was convinced the two men must be able to hear her heart hammering in her chest, it was so loud in her ears. He sounded irritated at the Executor’s questioning but there was so much pride there too. Zavala was proud of her. The realisation makes her feel light-headed.

“Well, like I said.” Hideo cleared his throat. “I trust your judgement.”

“And I trust her. She belongs here, I’m sure of it.” There was another awkward silence before Zavala spoke again. “I’ll see you back in there, Executor.” He was polite, but his intent was obvious to Hawthorne. Be off with you. I’m done with you. She thought back to how she’d dealt with those two snobs earlier and wished she’d had his subtlety. She hazarded a peek from out behind the pillar to see Hideo sketch a bow before returning to the party. Zavala’s shoulders slumped and exhaled a tired sigh. He trudged over to the window that Hawthorne had opened earlier, leaned on the windowsill and looked out over the City.

She watched him in silence for a moment, processing what she just heard. He defended her, he was proud of her, he trusted her. He thought she belonged. The thought of it was exhilarating, comforting and frightening all at once. She emerged from her hiding place and cleared her throat softly.

Zavala turned to face her. Surprise turned to dismay as he glanced back and forth between her and the direction in which Hideo had left. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” she smiled sadly as she crossed over to him.

“Don’t pay any attention to what he said,” Zavala gestured in Hideo’s direction. “He doesn’t understand.”

“Oh, I don’t care what that guy thinks. He’s a jerk,” she stated with a shrug. “Did you mean what you said?” She looked up at him with wide, intent eyes. “I care what you think.”

“Every word.” His reply was emphatic and he held his gaze with hers.

She nodded, a smile ghosting on her lips before saying a quiet, “Thank you.”

“You look lovely, by the way.”

Hawthorne laughed, pressing a hand to her surely blushing cheek. “Uhm. I…I’m not sure this outfit is really me. You know?”

“Maybe. But you wear it well.”

She smirked up at him, regaining her composure. “Flatterer.”

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asked, nodding towards the exit. “There’s another party we can go to.”

“Don’t you have more networking to do?”

He shook his head, “I’ve done my duty. I think I’m done for the night. What do you say?” He smiled and theatrically offered her his arm.

Hawthorne gave an unladylike snort at his antics before looping her arm through his. “Can we go out the front door? I want to see the looks on their faces.”

“Done.” He replied with a smirk. He led her through the soiree, down the stairs and through the streets of the City. He stopped when they reached what looked like a bombed out pub. What was left of the sign over the door read,  _-ry Brew_.

They entered the bar and Hawthorne picked up her skirts to step over some stray rubble that the Frame sweeping the floor had missed. She looked up and laughed. “There’s no roof!”

A jubilant voice from behind the bar responded, “But the lines are intact!” Shaxx happily pounded the bar next to the beer taps. “That’s what’s important.”

“You went to the other party?” Zavala asked him, taking a seat on a barstool after helping Hawthorne up on to her own. “How long did you last?”

“Five minutes,” he replied cheerfully. “Hawthorne, what’ll you have? You can have bitter, bitter or bitter, the other kegs burst. Tragedy.”

“A pint of bitter sounds amazing, Shaxx, thank you,” Hawthorne said, grinning.

“Pint for the lady, a lemonade for the Commander,” Shaxx laughed.

“A bitter as well please, Shaxx. Thank you.”

“Don’t get offended Zavala, it’s just I know how badly you handle hangovers,” Shaxx added, pulling the first pint.

Hawthorne chuckled softly as she listened to Shaxx and Zavala’s banter. She glanced around furtively to make sure no one was watching before resting her hand on Zavala’s knee. She felt his hand cover hers, give it a quick squeeze and then withdraw. She began to think that maybe Zavala was right. She did belong here.


End file.
